


Enjoy Bonk! Responsibly

by voxmyriad



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Actual concerned Sniper, Beef stock, Bonk! Atomic Punch, Delicious radiation, For a little bit anyway, Gen, It's like culinary slumming, Nutmeg, People get bored in the desert, Spy does a stupid thing, radiation, sort of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2011905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxmyriad/pseuds/voxmyriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spy finds one of Scout's Bonk! Atomic Punch cans isn't completely empty. Curiosity gets the better of him. Regret ensues immediately. It all goes downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjoy Bonk! Responsibly

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a conversation I had with my roommate after we found the ingredients for Bonk! contained both nutmeg and beef stock. It might be the most fascinatingly revolting beverage. [Here](http://thecrimsonloomis.deviantart.com/art/Bonk-Atomic-Punch-Label-with-Tumbler-Warning-RED-405590300) is the label on dA.

He always held out as long as possible, but eventually Spy once again found himself stalking through the base, plucking empty Bonk! cans off tables and window sills and countertops and dropping them into the garbage bag he held at arm's length.

"Perhaps the boy really was raised in a barn," he muttered as he reached out to sweep three cans into the bag. One of them tipped over, spilling a small puddle across the wood, and Spy leaped back before any of the noxious fluid could leak onto his suit. Screwing up his nose against the oddly penetrating smell, he reached out and picked up the can with two gloved fingers. A block of text on the can's vivid label caught his eye.

"'Ingredients,'" he read aloud. "'Water (Irradiated).' Well, of course. For the flavor, no doubt. 'Isotopes (Unstable).'" He blinked and moved the can a bit farther away, and squinted to keep reading. "'Nutmeg.' _Nutmeg?_ Why is it the _third ingredient_? That is _revolting._ That is too much nutmeg for _anyone._ "

Unnoticed on the wood beside him, the pool of Bonk! glowed gently as the sun left the window sill behind.

"'High fructose corn syrup.' Like everything else in this country. 'High-density corn syrup treacle.' That is not even a food. 'Dehydrated ultra-dense corn solids.' That is not even edible! How is the boy still ali— _beef stock (irradiated)_!?" Spy glared at the can as though it had personally offended him, because it had. "Nutmeg and beef stock? And corn syrup? You must be joking. _Please_ be joking."

He set the can down next to the pool of glowing—irradiated—soda. Picked it up again. Leaned forward and sniffed it, made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, set it down again. Picked it up. As he moved it to hold it over the bag, it sloshed gently. "Revolting," he said again, staring at it, tilting the can, feeling the weight of the half inch left in the bottom. "Further evidence that the boy is insane."

Slosh.

***

The last thing Sniper expected to see when he wandered into the kitchen was Spy bent over the sink. Was he drinking from the faucet? "Last time I checked, the cabinets were full of glasses, mate," he said as he crossed to the refrigerator and peered inside.

There was a muffled answer that might have been "go away," obscured by gurgling. Sniper turned back empty handed, boredom now staved off by this odd, amusing development, and leaned against the counter. "Didn't quite catch that."

Spy huffed and pulled back from running his tongue underneath the faucet long enough to growl thickly, "Go _away,_ Bushman. Is that clear enough for you?"

"You sound like you got a cold. How'd you manage that in a desert with no one else around for the last month?"

"I do not have a cold. I am fine. Thank you for your concern, goodbye." Whatever small hope Spy had that would be taken at his word fizzled out as Sniper flashed a kindly grin.

"Nah, mate, I'm here for ya. Like a nice cup of tea? Think Pyro's got some peppermint around somewhere."

"I do not need _tea,_ " Spy shouted, and the exertion of shouting undid all the hard work of cooling his tongue under the water. With a groan, he leaned over again.

"Hey," Sniper said, sounding almost genuinely concerned this time, "you sure you're right? Should I grab Medic for ya? What's this?" Spy winced and grabbed for the can too late as boots creaked across the floor. "This is Scout's rubbish. You didn't drink this, did you? Holy dooley, the warning label's the biggest part!" Sniper pulled off his sunglasses and peered at it, horrified. "'Warning: Bonk! contains 11,000% percent the daily recommended allowance of sugar and 240,000 millirems _above_ the annual amount of recommended allowance of radiation'—how's this stuff not dropping people in their tracks?"

Spy glared at the side of the sink but did not answer, preferring instead to continue pouring water over his radiation-damaged tongue. Sniper continued, morbidly fascinated: "'If ingestion of Bonk! causes teeth to fracture, chip, crack, fall out, explode, or retreat violently into skull, discontinue use and consult a physician.' How's your teeth holding up, mate?"

"It was just a sip," Spy said through gritted teeth and returned immediately to the water.

"Just a sip too much, blooming idiot. 'May cause fatal bowel blockage if taken orally. If applied to skin—' Did you get any on you?"

Spy shook his head and held up his gloved hand to confirm that he was splash-free.

"Won't need to remove any skin, then." But Sniper did hold the can with a lot more respect, and at arm's length. "The kid drinks this stuff by the case," he said wonderingly.

"I cannot imagine how he is still alive," Spy said, taking a brief break to check his tongue in the shiny side of the toaster. "Respawn must be saving him from a more horrible death than the deaths he faces every day on the field." It still hurt. At least he had not swallowed, he thought as he stuck his head back under the faucet. He could only imagine what that would be doing to his stomach lining right now.

"You'll need to come out of there sooner or later," Sniper pointed out as he dropped the can into the garbage. "You look ridiculous."

Spy growled wordlessly and reached for his wrist, and a cloud of smoke obscured him as the cloak hid him from view. Sniper stared for a few seconds. "I can still see you, y'know."

"No one is making you stay."

"The water's just…" He gestured helplessly, unable to describe the way the stream was hitting an invisible tongue and spattering all over the inside of the sink, and how it looked like the sink was haunted by a faucet-drinking ghost, or a Cloaked Spy too stubborn to 'fess up to letting his curiosity get the better of him.

"Just…go and see Medic," he finished, exasperated, and was gone before Spy could protest yet again that he was fine. Behind him, the water kept running for a few seconds, then stopped, and for once he pretended not to hear Spy's quick, quiet footsteps emerge from the kitchen. He'd brought it on himself, right enough, but the man had been through enough today without Sniper commenting on his complete lack of stealth as he picked up speed and a blur of rippling air fairly whipped past him on the way to Medic's lab.

"Whacka," he muttered as he slipped his sunglasses back on and walked down the hall. His boot kicked against a garbage bag with a metallic clatter, and he crouched and peered inside, and chuckled to himself, then picked up the bag and resumed Spy's dropped task of tidying up the litter of Bonk! cans. He'd have to have a word with Scout about not leaving them wherever he happened to finish one off; wouldn't do to have a can of that stuff fall into the wrong hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Achievement Unlocked: Wrote and published TF2 fic! Feel free to find me on [my tumblr](http://voxmyriad.tumblr.com), I need more TF2 on my dash like whoa.


End file.
